For this purpose she would swell the waves, and toss the feeble bark.
She dispensed, according to the dictates of her caprice, the mildew
among the tender herb, and the pestilence among the folds of the
shepherds. By the stupendous powers of enchantment, she raised from the
bosom of a hill a wondrous edifice. The apartments were magnificent and
stately; unlike the shepherd's cot, and not to be conceived by the
imagination of the rustic. Here she accumulated a thousand various
gratifications; here she wantoned in all the secret and licentious
desires of her heart. But her castle was not merely a scene of
thoughtless pleasure. Within its circle she held crouds of degenerate
shepherds, groveling through the omnipotence of her incantations in
every brutal form. Even the spectres and the elves that disobeyed her
authority, she held in the severest durance. She compressed their tender
forms in the narrowest prison, or gave them to the stormy winds, to be
whirled, _with restless violence, round about_ the ample globe. In
a word, her mansion was one uninterrupted scene of ingenious cruelty and
miserable despair. To be surrounded with the face of disappointment and
agony was the happiness of Rodogune.
"When first by her art she raised that edifice which is now inhabited by
her son, she had been desirous to conceal it from the prying eyes of the
wanderer.
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